Page 16 of Holiday Hire

I stay quiet. Phoebe's not my type, but I wish I could deny Willow's statement. Phoebe's magenta hair blows in the breeze. Her sun-kissed legs, displayed from her cut-off jean shorts, are as perfect as I imagined. A purple, oversized sweater hits the top of the frayed hems. The right side of her thigh has a streak of hearts and flowers running up it. I can barely make out the letters M-A-R.

My mouth turns dry. My dick strains against my zipper, and I curse myself.

She tattooed another man's name on her body.

What's his name? Mark? Martin? Marcello?

Willow opens the door and bounces out of the truck, rushing toward the steps and calling, "Phoebe!"

I tear my eyes off them and stroll toward the back of the jet. Dale, the runway employee, has boxes loaded onto a cart. He wheels them to the truck and I help put them into the bed.

"And you've met my ornery brother, correct?" Willow chirps.

I shoot her daggers with my glare.

"Sure have. How are you, Alexander?" Phoebe asks, meeting my gaze.

I force myself to be polite. "Fine. Let me help unload the rest of your boxes, and we'll be on our way."

"That's everything in the jet," Dale states.

I glance at the handful of boxes, questioning, "Did you put things in storage?"

Phoebe shakes her head. "No. That's all my stuff."

I arch my eyebrows. Since when don't women have way too many things?

Phoebe proclaims, "I'm a minimalist. Don't like a lot of clutter."

"Very California of you," I tease, but it comes out sounding rude.

"Alexander! Behave!" Willow reprimands.

Guilt fills me, but I'm not admitting anything to my sister. "It was a joke. Phoebe knows that, right?"

I'm unsure why I expect her to have my back, and for a moment, I'm sure she'll call me out. Yet she doesn't.

She straightens her shoulders, lifts her chin, and smiles. Her blues beam brighter. She replies, "Of course."

"See?" I tell Willow, then open the passenger door. "Let's get out of here."

"You can have the front," Willow says to Phoebe, and climbs into the back.

Phoebe grasps the grab bar, hoists herself onto the seat, and asks, "Any chance we can stop in town first?" She crosses her legs, and the letter I is revealed next to the M-A-R.

I stare at it, a lump forming in my throat.

Not Mark. What guy's name is M-A-R-I?

"Is that okay?" Phoebe asks.

I snap out of my trance, look up, and realize she caught me gaping at her thigh.

Her lips twitch and pink crawls around her cheeks.

I quickly answer, "Fine," shut her door, and go around the truck, scolding myself. The last thing I need is to have the nanny thinking I'm interested in her.

I start the truck, pull out of the airport, then ask, "Where in town do you need to go?"

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